San Sebastian to Barcelona by Bike, Sept. 21st - Oct. 11th, 2009
No trip worth anything begins stress free. I find the trips that you get the most benefits from are the ones you almost didn't take. The day before leaving for San Sebastian, my father's wife had heart failure and went into a coma. If there was any event that would make me cancel a dream trip after months of planning, this was it. I spent the whole day going back and forth about whether to go or not, and at last when I decided to cancel and help my father at the hospital, he said not to come. So, two hours before the flight's departure, we packed as fast as humanly possible and got to the airport with enough time for a couple of bloody mary's and a pannini. Since I am a champion teeth grinder while I sleep, it took half a day to massage my jaw to unlock completely. I was pretty stressed out, and not that confident in my decision to go. As it turned out, she did miraculously recover which I found out a few days later.
San Sebastian was certainly an ideal city to begin in. Medium in size and fully accessible by foot, the half moon beach was a beautiful promenade for the throngs on Spaniards in the evening "marcha." I almost forgot about the culture here of walking: the young, old, in love, with children, with a cane and with dogs all walk equally. Of the many aspects I appreciate in the Mediterranean culture, taking time to walk is a pleasure that Americans should rediscover, and not just for the weight loss benefits.
We kicked off the next couple of evenings walking in the Barrio Antiguo, window-shopping amongst the tapas offerings- each a small elegant artistic display of a few ingredients, some olive oil and piled on bread with a toothpick for structure. It's a couple of bites of heaven, washed down with light beer. Two days was just enough to get our plan together, gather route suggestions, and acclimate to life on the road for the next 3 weeks.
We headed northerly to France, first stopping for lunch in Irun, Spain before getting on the "Alta Ruta de Bici." This route crosses the Pyrenees mountains from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea. It goes the long ways, zig zagging back and forth over the frontier between France and Spain, and the tiny principality of Andorra. I have kept this guidebook on my bookshelf for almost 10 years from the time I bought it for 100 pesetas long ago. I remember using it on my first solo bike tour in Europe when I 23 years old. I have been looking forward to retracing my steps ever since! Although the maps were printed in the 80s, they still provided excellent route descriptions, elevations, mileages and suggestions for where to buy food.
In contrast to that trip in 2000, which was all about proving to myself that I could and should travel alone, as a woman, this time I was going with someone else (see previous blgo entry). I wanted to see a few of the towns that I remembered from that trip- from the first two days to be exact- when I got stranded in a tiny town called Tor, in Spain, when I found myself camping in the rain in a leaky tent, running out of food and getting a flat tire, 30 K from the nearest bigger town on unpaved roads, when the rain turned to snow, and I began to freeze...It was this moment that I proved to myself that I was a survivor- but had my memory remained true over the years? I wanted to see Tor again to be sure.
We had exactly 16 riding days available, and hoped to cover about 1000 K and get to Barcelona in time for relaxing and more tapas eating, and of course our flight home. The guidebook also steered us over at least one major climb per day, the highest being 2400 m, the lowest 570 m. Most grades of the incline were challenging, mostly hovering between 10-15 %, which reduces most cycling to a slow grind of about 3 m/hour. The toughest day was the first day of real climbing when we had to face how undertrained we were in the Puerto de Iraty, which rose from nearly sea level to 1200 m, over 20 K, but with such steep grades of 20% before dropping into Larrau, in the Basque country.
These first few days of cycling turned out to be the most grueling in steepness- challenging our physical and mental endurance. This was supposed to be fun, right?
We had about 3 days of cycling before deciding on a rest day in Izaba, Spain. Unlike France, Spain has campgrounds far and few between. Almost every small town in France with have a plethora of tourist accomdations, including one or two quality campgrounds. However, these towns also shut down about 7 PM, so if you arrive late, you had better come prepared with your own food and cookware. We spent a few nights in France wandering through deserted towns and knocking on closed restaurant doors before we starte carrying full back-up meals of cous cous, tuna and baguettes. Some hotels did provide a repas- or half pension of dinner, maybe breakfast- but in the slow season this wasn't so sure; plus, we were committed to camping as much as possible. So we had to stick to our budgets.
Spain, on the other hand, doesn't get started for dinner until 7 or 8 PM, and even small towns became lively again in the evenings, as long as it wasn't a Sunday. We found an enjoyable campsite in Izaba, Spain, at the base of our next climb into France and decided to take an extra day for recuperation. There was a pretty restaurant and bar in the center of the campsite, and since we were tired decided not to push on a Sunday over the pass where any markets would be closed. However, early Monday morning, they started construction on the pass and closed the road down to all traffic. We had a moment of paralyzation- go off route? leave the Pyrenees? go back over a pass we had already conquered? At last, we decided to back track over the previous day's pass and take a side route to get back into Spain.
Which is the other thing to know about Spain- there is always construction.
It only took one extra day to get back in to France to summit Col de Marie Blanque, then Col d'Aubisque and Col d'Tourmalet. All three of which are on the Tour de France route and the stage of many famous cycling dramas, victories and defeats. They were less dramatic for us, but personally challenging nonetheless as we settled into the 3-5 hour rhythm that it takes to 1500-2500 m of uphill climbing, full loaded with touring gear, we enough food, water and motivation to get to the top and still think of it as "vacation." Luckily, the famous climbs also have signs with elevations and incline percentages so we were able to pace ourselves easier and get to the top riding strong- after all, this one was "to win the Tour!"
Over the next few days of riding, we pushed ourselves to cover 2 medium sized passes a day to keep on track for arrival in Barcelona. The nights did get a bit chillier and the air was quite humid in the mornings, but we still had plenty of perfect blue skies and sun to warm us over the course of the day. We had also timed our trip to land just as the fall leaves were turning- orange, red and yellow were bursting in small patches across the valleys that we descended into and ascended out of. Of course there was plenty of livestock to keep us company throughout our trip, and many roads were designated for free roaming cows, horses, sheep and pigs. Most were quite strong from years of walking up and down the hills, their bells ringing loudly and echoing among the hills. You could almost say this was the theme tune of our trip.
Just outside of Andorra, we reached the 17 K road I had long imagined in my head from my previous trip. It was a long unmarked and sometimes unpaved road with little traffic, except for some wary cows. We were hardly sure where we were going but tried to enjoy the journey over the few hours it took to reach Tor, which is about as medieval a town as you could imagine on the frontier with Andorra. I saw where I had camped my tent above the river and the stone buildings where I had searched for a pump to fix my flat. It was so neat for me to return after all this time, and even better that it was just as I had imagined and remembered it!
Unpaved roads took us into Andorra- a mega-mall country of zooming motos, horrendous traffic and ghastly sky scrapers in a ski valley. From the moment of arriving, we couldn't wait to leave, but we first had to survive riding through the traffic, the narrow to non-existent shoulders, construction, trucks and leg deadening uphill grades. We did summit Envalira at 2400 m in a reasonable amount of time and made it back to France, and finally to the Spanish border, where we strolled about one last evening drinking beer, wine and trying new foods, before veering off-route direction of Barcelona.
As a last note, I don't recommend riding into Barcelona- we tried it, but construction, trucks, deviations, and damaged and dangerous roads were not enjoyable after so many quiet and peaceful roads. We paid the 5 Euros to train in to the city- where we were lost like two country mice, with no map, no clue, shattered nerves and almost run over by a moto with a death wish. Thankfully, my Spanish friend flew from Madrid to meet us where we were at last lead by a knowing Spaniard down all the alley ways and hidden neighborhoods to the best tapas and fresh seafood restaurants.
We did accomplish what we set out to do, and we did it with enjoyment and togetherness. I polished up my Spanish and French language skills for the time-being, got back into shape despite the vast amount of eating and drinking we did. It was a wonderful, challenging, charming trip through the back roads of the Pyrenees mountains- and the mountains became the way to experience everything at a slower pace, which allowed for easy stopping, breath catching and photo taking.
What goes up must come down, and there's nothing like coming off a mountain after you have climbed it by the sweat of your brow, fueled by abundant jamon and sandwich intake. The new and cherished part of this was having someone to share it with- and for all my rationalizing about why traveling alone is necessary, I liked having someone to look at the same sunset with and who kept me from being too much inside my head and more in the moment- which is what its all about.
